Without You
by NxnsxgnorsDxmon
Summary: Jude and Timothy are having a coq-au-vin dinner, where it's becoming a battlefield not only of disagreements and slurps, but also of compliments and kind words which the nun has never heard about self especially coming from a man. But on the morning after the sudden disappearance of the nun shocks him. {Short Nunsignor Book}
1. Dinner

Sometimes the nights weren't the darkest at all. Depending or not by its genuine notion of the darkness, besides its whether palish or vibrant nuances, tinting the nocturnal mirage. The hive of shimmering palish gilt stars swarmed the dark nocturnal sky, outnumbering the sole pale moon that hung over as a disco ball.

The patients were already gathered in their own wards for extra good night sleep, whilst Jude had a rather special occasion or engagement tonight. Her temporal out of charge episode was the sole episode of the day when she isn't ultimately Sister Jude or rather the administrator of Briarcliff by canning patients, ordering the security guards and orderlies to jail the rebellious inmates even being doped with heavy medicaments. Even when she was resting until the next morning as her motionless, leanly curvy body was collecting its nutrients physically and mentally on the compact bed which was the only furniture that gave a break to the pious sister of the church with its lurking shadows, haunting her in the lonely, cold nights which were merely mustering with the time for her. Her eyelids' muscles relaxing by being utterly shut as blinds. Reverie transmitting her in much different realm, fogging her train of thoughts with tantalizing dreams. Dreams, which were rather bizarre or licentious short movies that her mouth salivated, watering the pillow as her petite-frame was donned in her bloody red, paradoxally silken negligee.

As the retrospection's roller coaster keeps on, the special occasion when she could be herself was the weekly coq-au-vin Friday night with her favorite priest.

"_Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee__, __Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus._" The middle-aged woman recited in a murmur the prayer, whilst her elvish, milky as sheer snow grasped the knife, slicing the onions as its pungent onion reek waffled across her sensitive nose." _Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.__ Amen!_" Meanwhile, her tongue crafted the prayer in velvety, low voice that her naturally rosy-coloured, soft as satin lips produced, shutting her eyelids by tilting her head. Her adroit, versatile hand, grasping the knife yet was chopping on small pieces the sliced onion on the wooden chopping board. Jumpcutting to moment when she had a limited time until the dinner was ready and before the aspiring Monsignor's arrival to prepare herself by primping with clothing her figure with her ravishing red satin slip, hugging exquisitely her curves and holding her cologne with its fiendishly alluring fragrance, slowly lifting it up to her nostrils with tightly shut eyes as if she held the pearliest gem. The cologne's tap was off as her sensitive, vulnerable nostrils inhaled inwardly its succumbing fragrance, subsequently besprinkling it on her fingers and daubing its cologne all over her bosom delicately, featherly with her fingers. Picturing impurely promiscuous, explicit images of Timothy caressing and teasing her cleavage with his pristinely long, strong fingers every inch of her exposed pale as ghost, creamy as cashmere flesh. Or rather his nose nuzzling featherly the besprinkled perfume's area, muffling a smug, steamy moan from his pale-pinkish lips and then using his teeth to nibble on the silken skin of her neck, besides peppering it with light kisses until they escalate to awfully ferocious as a wild beast.

Afterwards the blonde approached her compact, convenient bed to snatch her neatly prostrated by dusting it and putting her lean, brittle arms in its itchily wool, rigid sleeves, contacting her skin and then her fingers buttoned its rigid, shapeless ecclesiastical attire up to under her chin.

Once she titivated her own make-up faintly along with the perfume and her dress code, the blonde fled her office by strolling up to the kitchen as her midnight black, classy chunks clicked against the cement, dull floor, producing incessant, aggressive click, amalgamating with its monotonous, lifeless silence that consumed the lobby with exception of handful of passing security guards or orderlies, who're in charge each passing second.

When the former licentious jazz nightclub singer stepped in the kitchen to check the oven with the scrumptious dish, consequently she turned it off by serving the zapped, recently baked coq-au-vin in 2 plates and thereafter serving them on the kitchen table that was adorned with empty glasses, silverware eating tools and a tall candle in the middle as its scintillating, vermilion flame, sheening vibrantly. Additionally, a bottle of communion mouth-watering wine was sitting motionlessly on the table, in case, if either of them wanted to drink something else than water and to cosset one another extravagantly.

All of a sudden, masculine, sufficiently heavy steps emanated from the dim light with its twinkling light asylum's lobby, keeping Jude's wits about the ambitious holy man's presence in the wee hours of the night.

Her heart raced abruptly, flushing her constricted chest as its heart beats unrealistically swelled up in its pulse, sedating her blood with vague flinch, contouring her enchanting facial features.

"Jude? May I come in?" The man of the cloth rapped on the door politely a few times, enquiring until the middle-aged woman ambled up to the door to open it for her special guest, who just arrived.

"Good evening, Timothy!" The older woman stepped aside, holding the wooden door as her caramel brown orbs, fueled with warmness, welcoming affection and amicability tinted the warmest, the most glowing caramel pigment in her irises. A glowing, friendly smile carved upon her rosy-coloured, luscious lips as it blossomed significantly, subsequently a beaming, kindheartedly innocent smile kissed Timothy's baby pinkish lips.

"Good evening, Jude!" In the meanwhile, he set a foot in the kitchen as Jude shut the door behind him, whilst he was seating gentlemanly on the dining table. "It smells so delicious here."

"Yeah! I cooked yar favorite." The Bostonian seated alongside him. "Coq-au-vin! And that's why yar wondering from where the delicious aroma comes from." Even when she didn't pay any kind of attention to her utterance, her cheeks rubicundly tinted as torrid heat crawled underneath her facial skin of her chubby, well-defined cheeks.

"No wonder it's amazing and your cooking skills aren't for underestimating!" In the interval, the British compatriot grabbed the silver fork by pronging a handful of veggies, subsequently munching his first bite from the mouth-watering meal. "You're a rara avis, Sister Jude!" Immense content and heartmelting encouragement were vomited in his compliment to the woman of the cloth, whilst she grasped the fork with a couple of fingers, glancing self-conscious, plainly at him by biting her lip with her front ivory, still firm teeth. The younger man dabbed his damp, clammy, coq-au-vin stained lips with a cotton, plain cloth.

"What does that mean?" Her inquisitive inquiry earned Timothy's look, tattooed on his youthful, yet fresh handsome complexion. It flabbergasted the middle-aged lady, when the man of the cloth called her a rara avis as she scarcely knew anything in Latin, despite somewhat comprehending its meaning that was positive.

"It means rare bird," His honeyed, soft as satin reply lingered on his tongue, whilst her hazelish-brown orbs were transfixed on him, widened momentarily as its eyelids swelled up. "In Latin!" Meantime, his head bobbed as her eyes followed his current actions.

"I-Is that a compliment or a criticism?" He was cutting his meal with the dinner knife, whilst pronging it as the administrator of the mental hospital posed the question gravely without averting her gawk.

"It's a compliment." In the meantime, his mammoth, milky as vanilla hand reached for the communion wine's bottle, staring at his favorite nun, opting to not admire her ethereal, ageless beauty, oozing of her and secretly wondering how she looked out of her habit and wimple. "Most women of the cloth feel they have to deny all sensory life when they take their vows." In the corner of her lowered honey brown irises, she observed attentively how he removed the tap and the photogenic motion of his hand was refilling his glass of communion wine as the devotional member of the church's smile froze after replenishing his glass until he drifted the bottle up to her empty glass until her whole hand clawed the top of the unused glass, cutting him off.

"No!" What it dumbfounded the priest who docilely withdrew the bottle of the claret liquor, squinting up peculiarly his chocolate brown orbs at her how she didn't want to drink or even sip a handful of guiltless gulps from the communion wine. "I've renounced my spirits."

"Are you sure? Your cooking reveals an almost decadent palate." The sister of the church lowered her gaze in girlish, sheepish embarrassment due to his elating, emotive words, whereas a couple of seconds later a smug, demure grin cradled her lips after coyly nibbling on the glossily rosy-coloured bottom, plumpish lip.

"Decadent." Is that a subtle reprimand, Father?"

"Oh, you know me better than that. I always say what I mean. I'd appreciate the same from you." Meanwhile, the aspiring, strong-willed holy man sipped his glass of claret, throughout lacing his tongue as the blonde bashfully chuckled as a schoolgirl, ducking her head.

"As usual, you've seen right through me, Father. When you put me in charge here," Her caramel brown pools shifted up to him as her lips harmonized her exclaimation. "I thought your faith in me was based on our mutually shared vision of madness as a spiritual crisis, an absence of God." Timothy's face promptly softened as if a stray puppy was gaping at his rare bird, swallowing a lump in his throat without peeling a single word, in order to cut her off crudely.

"That remains true."

"I want to know where you found… Dr. Arden. He's not a man of God." The blonde insisted incredulously to find out the genuine motive how and why Arthur Arden, known as the doctor of science was hired, although it was amidst her least favorite topics she'd like to discuss during a Friday coq-au-vin night especially with Timothy. Her seriousness and half-heartedness was vomited in her spirit of inquiry, enveloping her heart.

"The Church approved him."His both hands were recently occupied with the dinner knife and fork, pronging and cutting with ease the dish as his eyes were darted to his plate, in case, to focus on the conversation and the dinner process in the same time."He was sent here by people better equipped to judge his godliness than you."

"Say what you will, your rare bird has a nose for rodents." Meantime, her berry-coloured tongue twirled outside as its tip licked lightly her upper lip diffidently, girlishly.

"You mustn't be so fearful."Shortly before replying her directly, he yanked from his lap the cloth, consequently dabbing his coq-au-vin stained, damp lips. "It was God, after all, who created both science and Heaven. God put the idea in a doctor's head to create the antibiotic that cured tuberculosis. These are amazing times, if you just look at it in another light." His thick, dark eyebrows faintly arched its swan curve, whilst assuring her soothingly.

"There's no other light."

"We're literally almost on the moon. Our dear departed John F. Kennedy, a Catholic, was elected President. This is a time when anything can happen, if someone wants it enough."

"But what on earth do we want, if not to save souls?" The religious woman of the cloth's honey brown irises were squinted up incessantly at his as honey and chocolate met, linking up together.

"Here's," All of a sudden, the Bostonian was caught off guard when he took her petite, creamy as baby skin hand into his larger, amusingly warm as she gaped nonplussed at the grip of their hands as the thumb kneaded delicately the back of her hand. "What I want. I want this institution to become a place of such promise, " In the interim, their eyes were transfixed on their hands as the British aristocrat's eyelids blinked frequently as shimmering pale stars in the somber nocturnal sky. "And renown that we are asked to be Cardinal of New York."

"We?" An optimistically enthralled, slight grin brushed her lips, whilst her tongue timidly, self-consciously crafted the pronoun, emphasizing it.

"Wherever I go, you go. You're my right hand." At the moment, the former promiscuous nightclub singer placed a hand on her collar, her slim, long fingers gingerly, sensually the wool, conservatively rigid fabric of her clerical robe. "You'll become Mother Superior, overseeing thousands of nuns who will address you as "Reverend Mother." And then, with God and you on my side." The middle-aged woman was undoing the buttons of her habit along with her sheerly white as an angel, cotton, convenient nightgown which was oblivious for Timothy as his honeyed words were sending shivers down her body and spine of sweetness, pleasure and lust, picturing the explicitly graphic, lubricious pictures, fogging her blizzard of thoughts and tinting her eyelids with unbelievable mirage as if they were protagonists in their own erotica. "I see no reason why I couldn't ascend to the office of first Anglo-American Pope. You'd enjoy Rome." Silence arched between the both adults for a split second. "Wouldn't you, Sister?" His velvety, British accent accentuated on his seducing whisper, zinging his lips.

"_Et postqquam ego colcavi me in tee,_" At the moment of the devotional woman of the cloth's inescapable tantalizing reverie's realm, plaguing her whirlpool of thoughts her elvish, milky as snow hand reached for her conservative, ecclesiastical austere wimple by snatching it from her head, thus tossing it carelessly on the ground, unpinning the low bun as her lion mane of sleek old Hollywood gilt tresses piled up instantly on her upper back after shaking them off, framing ideally her still appealing, young-looking with mild wrinkles complexion.

"_Modo colca te tu in me_," Her unbuttoned habit peeled off like a snake skin of her frail skeleton by being discarded on the ground recklessly, whilst the blonde got from the dining table, ogling at one another's faces with humongous lust, desire, love and pleasure, glinting vehemently their eyes. His mouth was agape at the sigh, incapable of resisting her endless grace. His rara avis was indisputably, insatiably beautiful without her hallowed, shapeless attires of the church as an armor. In the meanwhile, he swallowed a solid lump, scratching his throat. It was difficult for him to avert his gaze from the diabolical succumbing sight of his right hand being half-naked and mostly wearing a scarlet, velvet nightie beneath her holy robe.

"_Ista est mea creatura_," His chocolate brown orbs widened when she vaguely lifted her negligee's hem, exposing her eye-catching, elegant thin stockings, layering up to her mid-thigh with its garters by straddling his lap. His heart momentarily skipped a beat once his irises were met with the sultry, unspeakably obfuscating of the hallowed succubus, that once was dressed up in a habit and a wimple by concealing the deepest, the most somber paradoxal secrets of hers not only behind her impure thoughts, moreover of her gloomy past. The ravishing red slip. The bloody red lips with its tempting pout, carved upon them, brightly contrasting with her palish as ghost, porcelain complexion with its softness, sheening each inch of it. Her hazelish-brown eyes, submerging its toxic, brass liquid of ginormous lust, hankered desire and unconditional love were as piercing as cupid arrows, hexing its prey. Her alabaster as snow flesh breathing its own freedom when its itchy attires didn't welt her skin with its fabric, itself. Her lean, drop-dead gorgeous, tall as towers legs with its capitulating curves, carving her hips and pelvis. Her halo ringlet of silky auric wavy tresses framing her round, well-defined face.

"_Ista est mea creatura_," In the interval, the Bostonian pawed his muscular, broad shoulder with her petite, smooth hand as the British compatriot placed on top of hers his larger, surprisingly warm by seating on his lap, throwing her satin, slender arms around his neck as his big hands were brushing beneath her biceps, relishing its delicateness of her flesh by arching her neck, cocking back her head whilst clutching tightly shut her eyelids, muffling a soft, sensual moan from the top of her lungs until her both hands clawed the nape of his pale neck, being clung to one another as he held her shoulders. Meanwhile, her both legs were wrapped around his waist as his colossal, creamy as baby skin hand played with her long wavy golden hair, admiring her timeless, agonizing beauty as her elvish hand managed up to brush his jaw.

"I need you to be a team player. The doctor needs full oversight of his domain. You... look after yours." All of a sudden, Timothy snapped her out of her reverie by dwelling out of its heavenly realm by inhabiting its realistic realm, averting her gaze in embarrassment as they resumed finishing with their scrumptious meals.

\- _The Next Morning_ -

\- _24th of October, 1964_ -

After the mouth-watering and satisfying coq-au-vin Friday dinner night the both devotional members of the church shared as a piece of moment, the Saturday morning was embraced by its drastic jumpcut. The late October autumn breeze was assaulting the Boston's infamous, old mental institution's façade, encircling with its palish, dim dispersing sun rays that gleamed certain windows and outskirts of its exterior and brick walls.

Jude has determined herself to flee the mental hospital and resign from the church by having a fresh start in Pennsylvania, in fact, she doesn't want the Monsignor to find out about her grim past and her sinful, most profound secrets she has stored up inside her Pandora's box for ages. Howsoever, shortly before the blonde left Briarcliff's walls in the wee hours of the morning, she spent a handful of minutes writing a letter for Timothy by leaving it directly on her dusty, cherry wood bureau, in order to take his time to read it and assimilate everything she has poured as blizzard of thoughts in the brief message.

What the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer hankered more than anything after being complimented was that the British aristocrat to not behold her ever again, because she doesn't want him to be hurt and she thought he deserves somebody better than her. Somebody younger, more beautiful and who genuinely deserves his virtue.

As soon as the lunatic inmates were released from their wards by having breakfast and then overcrowding the common room, the ambitious holy man paced in the hallway as he was readily sure he'd find Jude, his rara avis and discuss their recent mission or task they'd be given. His oxford, formal midnight-black shoes clicked against the cemented flooring in its frequent choir until he stepped beside the mosaic glass door of her austere office, tapping with a balled fist on the door, emitting sufficiently audible sounds to keep her wits about his presence in the early Saturday morning.

His baby pinkish, dry lips etched in a pensive, sheepish purse as his heart was still throbbing violently into his ribs cage, hoping to receive a response as soon as possible.

"Jude? Jude?"

No answer. No response. Nobody responded to his address of his right hand as his head faintly ducked, rapping on the door mildly louder than before as if her recent schedule was hectic and she could scarcely hear any sound, due to the fact of the numbing tasks as its inner voices, convincing her to finish them pronto.

"Rare bird? Are you busy?"

A quarter a minute later his mammoth, milky as vanilla hand met the doorknob, thereafter turning it as through the ajar gap he could peer as desolation was consuming her former office. Every remarkable paraphernalia of hers was no longer adorning. It was just like before she was in charge of the notorious asylum. The only thing that was sitting motionlessly untouched on the dusty, hardwood desk was a letter.

"W-Where are you?" Inquisitive, terrified whisper in low voice was vomited in his rhetorical question by stepping inside her old office by shutting promptly the door, ambling up to the bureau so that to read the letter she has only left after her sudden disappearance. "Why you are gone? What I've done to you?" At first, one of his inner voices was gnawing him as if it was his fault for her unpredictable disappearance.

When the man of the cloth took the message as his chocolate brown orbs scanned its text, recognizing ideally the older woman's cursive manuscript, scribbling what was encumbering her soul.

_Dear Timothy,_

_If you're reading this, I hope you understand the circumstances and it's the last time you're reading this!_

_The coq-au-vin dinner we had the last night was not only elating and bringing me a smile on my face for the rest of the night, but also it was the last time to see each other in our lives. Don't get me wrong!_

_I've always appreciated your support, your goodwill and your benevolent nature, nevertheless, you deserve somebody better! Somebody better who's not only younger, furthermore, more beautiful and truly deserves you with each ounce of its identity! You don't deserve an old whore, who's disguising herself as a nun, hiding her own darkness in a cloth of the church._

_I hope you're pursuing your divine Rome dream without me. I'm honored for being part of your life and helping you to reach up to here. _

_Farewell!_

_From Jude_

"R-Rare bird?" Dew of bittersweet, desperate moistness immersed his fragile eyelids as tears verged to spring up like toy-out-of-the-box into his eyes, tinting ruddily its lily-white eyeballs. "P-Please don't leave me!" His heart ached over her absence by being relentlessly cracked on thousands of pieces with the hammer of justice, scattered on the vacuum floor as he felt his knees weak, kneeling on the ground. In the meanwhile, a crystal, salty tear dripped as a bleeding scar from his eye, sniffling quietly to himself. "Without you, I'm nothing even if I'm the Pope in Rome or the Cardinal in New York!" Tearful, balefully rueful mutter jingled into his ears, shutting his eyes without blinking for a single second, allowing the heavy rain of tears to gush down, staining his face with dampness.

Whether if she's yet alive or dead, his crucial quest was to find her at any cost before it was too late by devoting his time, in order to search for her in every corner of Boston, regardless if its urban or otherwise countryside. Grotesque, shamefaced melancholy contoured his facial features, unable to cleanse his ocean of thoughts for a single second once he realized he's all alone to pursue his celestial Rome dream to become the Pope. Even if he opts to question anybody even Mother Claudia about his rara avis's absence, they wouldn't give him the real answer he's looking for. The priest was determined more than anything to resign from the church in a jiff by negotiating with Father Malachi, throughout opening a new chapter in his life. To search the entire the small city of Massachusetts even go in the other states and small cities if she's nowhere in Boston. His only and one of a kind Jude.


	2. Depression and Loneliness

\- _A Few Hours Later_ -

Shortly after the British compatriot has formally resigned from the church by negotiating with his mentor, Father Malachi, he was still the Monsignor, donned its clerical, conservative attires of the church, nevertheless not wearing the revered title Monsignor anymore. He was just a mere man with his own primary needs, desires, passions and dreams. The former man of the cloth was just Timothy Howard into his own eyes unlike the general population, whose eyes, whether unintentionally or trustlessly was spotting him, still believing he's the benevolent, blameless priest with his celestial dreams to rise in the patriarchy.

Moreover the elder man of the cloth questioned his protégé's real motives to flee the church by dwelling out of the sacred realm full of religious icons, holy missions and duties which were encumbering his schedule. At first, Father Malachi was flabbergasted how Timothy longed to flee the church due to personal reasons even to search for his own rare bird which was his crucial and sole quest for now since the younger man had great potential to raise significantly, beneficially in the patriarchy by becoming Cardinal of New York and afterwards being the Pope in golden, divine Rome, stepping on the scarlet, satin aisle and overlooking the swarm of ordinary nuns and priests, who were bowing before him and addressing him Pope. However, the elder priest comprehended and assimilated rationally, complexly his former protégé's motives to be no longer part of the clergy, putting himself in Timothy's shoes as if he's found the love of his life during his priesthood and one day her disappearance disquiets him.

At last but not least, the former holy man didn't give up with bland, feuding ease at all. His impending destination after Father Malachi's office was to meet in person with Jude's mentor, Mother Claudia.

As his old, black cab was being driven by the former priest, who was strongly looking forward to transact about his right hand's absence, the late October streets of Boston were as peaceful as usually with its light autumn breeze, the rich carpet of crispy, flimsy leaves, sheeting the ground. Dim sun was hanging up in the cloudy sky, outnumbered and almost concealed by hive of grizzly clouds.

Once he parked the vehicle, subsequently he got from it by locking it up and entering in St. Andrews as strong hopes whirled in his whirlpool of thoughts to seek the answers he's looking for with strong-willed perseverance and credulous will aspiring him.

When the former aspiring Monsignor stepped beside St. Andrews' grandiose, oak wood double door, he gingerly pushed them as his chocolate brown pools were met with the elder nun, squinting her sapphire blue orbs at the monumental, mosaic window, seized her lips in a thoughtful purse until the grandiose double doors in parallel shut. His oxford shoes timidly clicking against the cement flooring, producing its repetitive choir. His sudden, haphazard presence caught off guard Claudia.

"M-Monsignor?" All of a sudden, the older woman hesitantly turned to the younger man as the loneliness, isolating themselves from anybody especially certain prying and childishly intruding members of the clergy was a good idea to have a decent, clear and laconic discussion which won't take less than a handful of minutes. Bashfully sympathetic smile touched her rosy-coloured, dry lips.

"It's not a Monsignor anymore, Mother Superior!" Sharp exhale flushed his constricted chest as the heartache was gnawing him as a savage animal with its sharp as spires teeth the gore and flesh until utterly flaying of the corpse at last. "I just resigned from the church after negotiating with Father Malachi."

"Why you're leaving the church, dear child? What makes you to take a different direction in your life," Meantime, the woman of the cloth strolled up to him, landing her azure blue irises at him with mild incredulity, glinting under them as twinkling stars. "Full of great potential to be the Cardinal and then the exalted Pope in Rome?"

"Sister, sometimes the worldview drastically changes once something even the pettiest thing causes the change!" The British aristocrat's colossal, creamy as velvet hands were into his pockets, unnerved to relax for a single second since his rare bird's disappearance not only into his eyes, furthermore of his life. "I had this great potential to be the Cardinal of New York and therefore the Pope in Rome with a Mother Superior by your side, in spite of the circumstance my right hand is no longer among with us. I mean she's just gone in the limbo." His lip pouted after suckling in its lower one uneasily. The older woman's eyes widened, goggling glassily, blankly at the younger man. "I found a letter on her desk earlier this morning."

"I know everything about her resignation but she told me to not tell anything to the Monsignor about anything, because he would go insane."

"I'm numb since the moment I found out she isn't in Briarcliff anymore. I feel nothing." His lips puffed coldly, dryly the cough, glimpsing at the carpeted flooring, nibbling on the silken skin of his bottom plumpish lip. "I won't be insane unless I find where she's at the moment."

"I'm very sorry to tell you that, Timothy, but," Meanwhile, Mother Claudia shot a stern, unwelcoming stare at Timothy by inhaling the church's scent. "But I need to keep her promise. To not tell anybody where is Jude!"

"I really need to see her. You shouldn't tell her I was there and you told me where is she!" The former aspiring holy man insisted unwaveringly as beg glistened his chocolate brown pools, fueled with desperation, immense heartbreak and numbness in the same time. "Just pretend as if nothing has happened."

"I can't do this! It's like a betrayal to her and a false promise which I didn't keep to her." Even when Timothy tried his best to accrue information about the blonde and her current residence, the revered nun coldheartedly, unconditionally loyal to her former protégé to not leak the pettiest information about her even in front of her former boss, who was looking for her and had a very close relationship not just platonically. "I've always kept her secrets and my word to her, regardless how personal are. Especially when she shared them in person with me. And I strongly respect anything she does as a decision."

"Mother, you shouldn't fear of the consequences! At least, I'll be truly glad if I find out a bit about her, thanks to you!"

"I'm really sorry but I can't leak anything about her." The stern retaliate dripped from her lips as cobra's venom, lingering on her tongue for her recent victims."

\- _A Few Days Later_ -

\- _28st of October, 1964_ -

As the days progressed shortly after the former ambitious Monsignor resigned from the church, in order to research the entire Boston and afterwards the other small cities and states especially the nearest to find the former sister of the church, he was currently in Michigan by reserving a room in a motel until the morning after when Timothy's going to flee for Wisconsin.

When the former man of the cloth was sitting on the ottoman, boozing fourth glass of rum as he has ordered for himself 2 big bottles of high-quality rum, his vision clouded misty mirages along with murderous fuzziness, spending the entire night consuming insane quantity of the potent liquor, lacing his tongue. Relaxing his body muscles. Infecting with its vicious alcohol into his blood and veins. His bones sedated.

He commenced to lose faith and hope to find Judy even after being in a few states and small cities, besides Boston and Massachusetts. The melancholy and suicidal thoughts submerged his blizzard of thoughts within less than a split second. Timothy felt impotent to guard his blizzard of thoughts against the vices. Suicidal thoughts. The discourage. The lost faith. The lost hope.

Heavy rain was pouring outside, clinking with its regiment of rain drops the closed windows and the small balcony, linked with the booked room. Palish moon hung up in the sky with its millions of sheening gilt stars, painting its nocturnal prospect.

Crystal, bittersweet tears stained his parchment, still young-looking complexion with dampness. His lips pouted as sometimes opened as deep caverns, swallowing the tumbling tears of its melancholic heavy rain, poured on his face. His eyelids tightly clutch, without allowing to motion the facial muscles to blink. Ducked head as his chin was propped by the palm of his mammoth, callous hand, whilst his other one held the glass with the last poured rum liquor, pooling it, whereas the bottles of rum were already emptied and scattered on the table. Sniffles and the serene song of heavy rain, brightly contrasting each other, floated in the background, jingling into the British aristocrat's ears.

"Why Jude? Why Mother Claudia?" In the interim, his pale-pinkish, rum-stained lips as its alcohol seared his lips' delicate skin seized the tearful rhetorical questions, addressed to the both women. "I hope you're still alive, Jude! Because I'm looking for you no matter what made you to flee the church and Briarcliff, hiding from me like a scared, wounded hare!" Hopelessness was sketched upon his face and vomited in his timid mumble. "My goose will be cooked if you're dead. Because if you're dead, that means I'm dead too. I'm a complete nothing without you." After guzzling greedily, cold-bloodedly the last glass of rum before leaving it aloof on the table recklessly, he emitted a rueful cough, scratching his throat.

All of a sudden, he plunked down the ottoman down on the ground, drenching the carpet with his bitter tears.

"I want to die right now especially if she's gone!"

Suddenly his epidermis bristled in goosebumps, whilst peeping over his shoulder shortly after sensing the delicate, feather touch of Shachath's gloved hand, caressing his dark hair. At the moment, the dark angel's other gloved hand daubed with a thumb his last drying tears, gushing down his cheeks whilst crouching down against him.

"You aren't real." The former man of the cloth's wry smile instinctively, haphazardly bloomed on his lips at the sight of the charismatic Shachath as pair of chocolate brown met pair of piercing, chilly sapphire blue orbs. Her bloody red lips were brushed in an affable, kindhearted smile. His heart momentarily skipped a beat. "I didn't even summon you."

"You summoned me somehow, Timothy! Think twice!" The delicateness of her velvety voice sent shivers down his spine and paroxysm, contaminating his bones and muscles.

"I don't know you!" He swallowed hard at his own words and the fallen angel's unpredictable presence, catching him off guard as he couldn't put a finger on it.

"But I know you, Timothy!"

"I want to be already dead. I tried and I tried and I've been rewarded with nothing for my hardships to find her."

"Are you certain you've still a hope to find Jude?"

In the meanwhile, the former holy man shook his head regretfully, wedging his lips in a pensive, reluctant purse.

"Do not lose faith with an ease! She's still alive and you will surely find her one day, regardless how long it took you." His sniffles and sobs subdued in the background of the motel room as his lips popped up promptly without breaking off the eye contact with the dark angel.

"I fucking need her, no matter if nobody doesn't want to tell me where's she!" Timothy didn't pay absolutely any attention to his own scowled whisper since the dissatisfaction enveloped his heart and was vomited in his whisper. Meantime, Shachath cupped his cheek lightly into the palm of her petite, amusingly lukewarm gloved hand, in order to console him.

"You will meet one day somebody, who's the only person, besides God that know where's your rare bird. It's an old friend of hers and her employee."

"F-Frank?" The younger man hemmed coyly, boyishly, whereas the angel bobbed her head in agreement, humming a melodious tune, lingering on her tongue. "I hardly believe he will tell me anything about Jude since he dislikes me."

"But thanks to him, you will know where your right hand is!" Optimism and realism cusped as feuding both sides, soothingly assuring the former priest to resume his life and not allowing the depression, suicidal thoughts and the soreful pain overtake him, winning its ordeal. "There's nothing to discourage to pursue the answers you're looking for, Timothy!"

It has been a handful of days since the Bostonian has established in Pennsylvania and she quickly bought a cheap, nonetheless, sufficiently convenient, clean and well-adorned cabin in the woods in Pennsylvania's countryside.

Furthermore, the blonde found a new job as a volunteer of orphans in an orphanage by not being donned in the ecclesiastical, dark wool attires of the church. She loved her job very much with her entire heart and aiding the children, who have been fated to be orphans and being housed in an orphanage until the beginning of their adulthood by communicating with them, besides spending her spare time with them, playing with them and exhorting them with advises from the life and her experience, sharing their own stories about their pasts. The middle-aged lady felt no longer the burden that once encumbered her and her heart along with the heartbreak of fleeing for the rest of her days Boston and the love of her life just because she feared of hurting him and most of all, Timothy to acknowledge anything behind her gloomy past. Her gloomy past and the woman, she used to be and she isn't shadowing herself anymore by sentencing her to death after joining the church somehow.

Judy was feeling like a free woman, capable of following her own passions by doing them with pleasure and a smile, stroking her lips. She loved children and they love her back, in spite of her age that doesn't permit her to bare her own baby anymore, besides being naturally infertile and empty due to the malicious syphilis. Nevertheless, she didn't give up by beholding the orphans as her own children models that brighten her day and entire week. Moreover, the former licentious jazz nightclub singer cherished each moment she was away from Timothy and being more with children.

When the blonde was in her cabin after a long, weary but marvelous day in the orphanage, she turned on the radio to distract herself and the mute the loneliness that was consuming her new home, while slicing the potatoes for a potato soup.

"_One fine day, you'll look at me__ a__nd you will know our love was, meant to be__! __One fine day, you're gonna want me for your girl__! __The arms I long for, will open wide__!_" Chiffons' song One Fine Day was recently playing on the radio as the multi voices and the piano interweaved in the background, whereas the former administrator of the notorious madhouse was thrumming eloquently to herself, swaying her hips in the rhythm, chopping the potatoes on tiny cubs for the potato soup.

As soon as the middle-aged lady finished with chopping the potatoes and sliding them in the saucepan with the already boiled water, mingling with the vegetables broth, she glanced at the framed old photograph of her and Timothy, posing alongside each other after finishing their recent holy mission in Connecticut.

In the interval, Jude grasped the framed Polaroid photograph, taken by a professional photographer by squinting up a scrutiny at her. Beaming, gleaming with its bliss smiles, honed up in the corner of their lips. Their friendly, saturating with its vibrant pigments irises, darted to the camera directly.

Nostalgia growled in the pit of her stomach as ruefully crystal, salty tears verged to spring up by flooding her eyelids with dew of moistness to stain her porcelain, yet youthful complexion. She chewed on her upper lip nervously as her forehead rested on the picture frame, her fingers bashfully tracing their beaming faces.

"I'm so sorry, Timothy! I'm yar disappointment, shame and disgust if ya think I've been always a saint with a big and golden heart."

\- _3 Years Later_ -

\- _20th of November, 1967_ -

_"What is worse than waking up in a desolated, old room with acrylic pictures, hanged on the walls by staring at you eerily?" An inner voice disturbed the former priest, who laid on a tattered, old bed of a godforsaken cottage, located somewhere in the highland. His shut eyelids shielded him against the maliciously creepy stares, landed on him. _

_When Timothy came to his senses by rubbing with his colossal, balled fists his drowsy eyelids by sitting on the edge of the bed, muffling a mere yawn, the pitch-black darkness encircled him, wondering from where the inner voices came._

_"W-Where am I?" The British compatriot posed the question with stammer that his tongue sluggishly crafted. _

_"Do not ask unless you discover by yourself the answer you're looking for, Timothy!" Another inner voice exclaimed in the vacuum as he got from the bed, ambling up as his oxford clicked against the old, oak wood flooring of the cabin. The pungent stench of gore and acrylic waffled across his sensitive nose. "It's the next door the answer you're looking for. You will like it!" Fiendish, inward whisper jingled into his ears, followed by a wicked chuckle, boating in the ebony dark room._

_"This can't be a dream." In the meantime, Timothy twiddled until his colossal, veiny hands clumsily touched a notoriously squeaky door, surveying for the doorknob until the door clicked opened, subsequently crawling until a corpse with widely spread legs and arms was lying on the ground, baptized underneath it with pool of gore. "No, no! Where this blood is coming from?" He emitted a mutter under his breath until his fingers fiddled lion mane of glossy old Hollywood aureate tresses, ruffled over the unknown dead lady's head as a mermaid's hair. "Jesus Christ! I-Is that you, Jude? Please, don't tell me you're dead!" Her immobile corpse didn't respond to the British aristocrat's touch that inspected the mysterious corpse. All of a sudden, when his hand slithered from her lion mane of silken, wild curls, it landed on her blood-stained lips as his fingers were baptized in reeking gore as if somebody has brutally beaten her to death and tormented her until her dead body was left in the middle of the nothing without being dragged off. The murderer was unidentified yet and perhaps he slyly got away with a murder. Then he managed to lift up his hand as his fingers, smeared in blood waffled its reek up to his nostrils. "Noooooo!" His high-pitched bewailed scratched his throat as sobs betrayed the silence and his calmness._

"Timothy? Is everything fine?" In the interim, Timothy's younger sister, Anna snapped him out of his train of thoughts as he dwelled out of his reverie realm by meeting Anna's piercing, austere gaze without averting it right away.

The both siblings were actually seating in the living room all alone with their own prejudices and whirlpool of thoughts since Timothy hasn't seen his family for ages and he decided to pay a visit to his birth town, London, in order to reunite shortly with his big family as they knew behind the abrupt vanish of Jude in the former ambitious Monsignor's life.

It has been already 3 years since the Bostonian's vanish and Timothy has researched every state without any satisfying results, unfortunately. At last but not least, he tried to have a fresh start and hope his rara avis to come somehow in his life again whether within a few years or decades.

"Oh yeah! Everything is okay, Anna! Don't be that concerned at all!" The older man's lips produced a slight absent-minded caution as an assuring smile swayed across his baby pinkish lips.

"I can fully accept how you can't still get over your rare bird's absence but you always think of her!" The brunette clarified in honeyed voice as she sipped her mug of green herbal tea.

"It just hurts me it's the third year without her. Just imagine what it could have happened to her, Anna! Don't you think?"

"She might have a new boyfriend, probably kids, having a nice job that makes her happy or something else that brightens her life unlike her former life. Who knows?" Meantime, the younger woman shrugged off her shoulders, alleging a couple of theories what might the former woman of the cloth may is doing nowadays. Once when Anna mentioned in front of her brother the first 2 speculations, it brought humongous ire and vexation that were brewing and cooking inside him as cobra's venom.

"I'm praying for her happiness and soul every day. Every morning and every night, no matter how I might be bittersweet of the idea if she's a new boyfriend or she hasn't got my children."

"But you'd be happy for her if she has children."

"Of course! Why not?"


	3. Where's Jude?

\- _2 Years Later_ -

\- _19th of November, 1969_ -

The last 2 years of lost hope and loneliness flew slowly but surely.

2 years of another lost and false hope that Shachath promised to the former man of the cloth, in his humble opinion. 2 years of loneliness, knitting him in a lethal cold embrace with exception when he's reuniting with his family once per a few months, in order to forget about the loneliness for awhile. 2 years of heavy rain of poured crystal, salty tears, staining his face.

A month or so abided until the beginning of the imminent decade. Nevertheless Timothy didn't stop believing of finding somehow his rare bird whether in Boston's outskirts or in the bar where's he going to have a drink tonight.

As the British compatriot has donned himself in casual garments such as a mere, cashmere pale navy shirt with a handful of undone buttons, exposed partly his hairy, toned chest; midnight black with its ebony exquisite nuances slacks, hugging his legs with casual ebony oxford, shoeing his big feet. His hair was the same with lack of white hairs due to the inescapable aging process. The same chestnut pigments friendly glistened like dew, baptized the vert grassland in the wee hours of the pale morning. The flawless porcelain, lily-white skin tone highlighted his round, masculine face with its well-defined cheekbones, the thick eyebrows with its sardonic quirk in certain situations, the baby pinkish lips and his chocolate brown orbs that once were as glossy as velvet have already lost its warmest chocolate hue, pigmenting the irises. His lips haven't even flexed his jaw in a choir to contour a slight smile.

His oxford clicked against the tiled in extravagant colors flooring of the old bar after the security guard checked his I.D card. The British aristocrat was encompassed recently in the bar by 2 inebriated couples, dancing on the dancing floor, whilst a handful of young adults' hysterical laughs after boozing insane quantity of the sweet, sinful liquor, lacing their tongues, searing the corners of their mouths and throats by sedating with its tranquilizing effect their bones and muscles.

"Oh hey! Watch out, kids!" Timid, austere caution almost died on the former priest's tongue by cautioning the tipsy young couple, who visibly looked in the beginning of their 20s as their surroundings were mistily oblivious along with their blurry visions.

"_Get your motor runnin'__! __Head out on the highway__! __Lookin' for adventure__ a__nd whatever comes our way__! __Yeah Darlin' go make it happen__! __Take the world in a love embrace__!_" Steppenwolf's song Born to be Wild was currently playing in the background in the old bar.

As soon as Timothy seated on the bar stool gingerly since he's been a few times in a bar and it wasn't a long time ago. In another lethally lonely night, the loneliness and the drink were his best friends. The bar's music was his ears' temporal friend, jingling its silver-tongued, rejoicing tunes by transmitting him in the musical realm, dwelling out of the reality as the song's lyrics were the landscape's colors, painting the scenery with its genuine colors, depending on the song. If it was romantic or happy one, on the contrary, the colours and pigments would be as vibrant as the exhilarating sunset. If the song was rather melancholic or a requiem, the colours were far from oblivious. As dark as the death and the fatal midnight.

"What would ya like to drink, sir?" The bartender's distinct feminine voice caught off guard the aspiring former Monsignor with a cockily seductive smile, gently brushing her ravishing red lips. Lightly or even a bit his plump, well-shaped cheeks tinted pinkishly as his throat flushed. Meantime, his chocolate brown pools landed in a haphazard shift at her sapphire blue pools, as piercing as the icicle's edge.

The bartender was actually a young woman in her mid-20s with a lion mane of silky old Hollywood honey tresses, cascading her mid-back as its tresses ideally framed her parchment, olive-tanned facial tone with its all feminine, pearly facial features. A scarlet, satin dress as its hem descended slightly above her round, lovely shaped knees, with long satin sleeves and V neckline, exposing partly her creamy as baby skin, luscious cleavage. She's been working as a bartender for a couple of years and being paid sufficiently well to keep on with her education and her rent. At last but not least, she wasn't tall at all as her height was approximately was 5'3 with lean body structure. Her name was actually Jill Lynch.

"I'd like some vodka. A very good one!"

"Alright, alright! Just in a second yar drink is ready." Jill said, chewing on her lower, plumpish lip by gathering a bottle of vodka from the collection of alcoholic beverages, subsequently slamming a glass on the bar table by removing its tap of the bottle, pouring its strong alcoholic liquid in the glass until it pooled almost the entire glass. "Wouldn't ya like some ice?"

"Sure!" Timothy accepted gladly.

In the meantime, the young lady tossed a handful of ice cubes in the glass by pushing it up to his elbow, gamely winking at him.

"Enjoy yar drink!"

"Thank you!" When he received his glass of vodka, the British compatriot snatched the glass by gulping a tiny sip, consequently leaving it aloof on the bar table.

"_Fire all of your guns at once__ a__nd explode into space__! __I like smoke and lightning__! __Heavy metal thunder__! __Racin' with the wind__ a__nd the feelin' that I'm under__!"_

All of a sudden, the former police officer's shoes clicked against the bar's tiled flooring by seating alongside Timothy.

"Monsignor? The heck are ya doing here?" The older man startled the younger one with the suddenness of his appearance as the former holy man seized his lips in a thoughtful, apprehensive purse. His heart violently hammered in his ribs cage.

"It's not Monsignor anymore, Frank!" His vodka-stained tongue crafted wry, quiet snicker, falling off his lips in reluctance. His chocolate brown irises immediately fell on the former policeman's parchment, slightly wrinkled complexion. "Once one thing vanished, it drastically changed my life and that's why I'm not even a priest anymore."

"I see." Frank quirked understandingly his eyebrow until the same barwoman emerged by persuading him to choose as quickly as possible his emphatic beverage he'd like to order for himself. "I'd like filthy martini. Very filthy!" The older man emphasized the last words, emitting a husky, guttural giggle.

The barwoman obediently, docilely prepared the filthy martini, while the both men were conversating each other.

"What brings you here, Frank?"

"As a widower for a few decades, I can tell ya I'm here for a goddamn good drink almost every night after finishing a shift in the bank." The security guard replied by clearing his throat seconds before delivering the reply.

"For how long have you been a security guard in a bank?" Meanwhile, the former holy man's front ivory teeth nibbled on the silken skin of his bottom, pale lip by sipping his glass of vodka as the motion of the gulped sip flexed his throat.

"_Yeah Darlin' go make it happen__! __Take the world in a love embrace__! __Fire all of your guns at once__ a__nd explode into space__! __Like a true nature's child__! __We were born, born to be wild__!_"

"For a few years. I left Briarcliff for better when the institution was sold to the fricking state!" In the meanwhile, the bartender poked his elbow amiably, in order to note the already served glass of filthy martini, glancing at the blonde. "Thank ya for the drink, ma'am!"

"It seems Briarcliff became burden for you!"

"It became for sure, Tim! Let's raise a toast for tonight!" At the moment, the both men raised their glasses by marking a raising a toast as their eyes were linked with one another. Beaming smiles honed up in the corner of their palish, damp lips. "Cheers!" The glasses of liquor clinked in a choir until they brought up the glasses, grazing their lips by sipping of them for a split second until leaving them aloof on the bar table. "So ya mentioned earlier that ya aren't a priest anymore due to one thing that vanished abruptly in yar life, if I'm not mistaking."

"Definitely! And for 5 years I'm still looking for the answer." Suddenly Timothy sighed a dramatic, coldhearted sigh as his stomach flushed at the heartaching thought of his rare bird's precipitous disappearance that still haunted him up to nowadays without finding any tangible track or piece of evidence of Jude. His Jude. His right hand. His rara avis. His one of a kind Jude. "I think God doesn't answer my prayers. And that's what tormenting me for years."

"Well, buddy, God is going to answer yar prayers for sure! But think twice," Meantime, Frank ate the first 2 olives of his beverage as its scrumptious, temporal savor spiked his tongue as cactus's vicious spikes. "What are ya exactly looking for as an answer? Be wise!"

"I just want to find Jude and I've found a letter on the morning after when she's ultimately vanished from my life for a half a decade. In the letter, she didn't even mention where she can be found, besides she criticized herself by portraying herself fatuously as I deserve something much better than her."

"Oh really? Yar looking for Jude? Huh?" Raspy gasp constricted the former cop's ribs cage after surging its oxygen from the top of his brittle lungs.

"Mhm!"

"Well, I can help ya here. She lives in a cabin, located in Pennsylvania's woods."

"_We can climb so high__! __I never wanna die__! __Born to be wild__! __Born to be wild__! __Get your motor runnin'__! __Head out on the highway__!_" The music yet played in the background, whilst the both men mooted a grave discussion. From personal to way too personal with its leaking information about the former pious sister of the church's current location.

"But Frank, there are big forests and abundance of cabins in each state's woods, you know!"

"Don't worry about that one!"

\- _A Day Later_ -

\- _20th of November, 1969_ -

The day flew as quickly as a light summer breeze.

Timothy booked a ticket for Pennsylvania after the bar as his flight was on the day after in the wee hours of the morning.

Once the former aspiring Monsignor arrived in Pennsylvania as Frank gave him a note, jotted Jude's address where she exactly lives. Timothy researched the woods by roaming dehydrated and being peckish for more than a half a day.

When in the corner of his eye noted one-story, esthetically humble cabin, he instantly recognized whose owner could possibly own it. Furthermore, the former member of the clergy was sitting on the hammock, knitted on the trees by taking a drag at her cigar, relishing the esthetic nature's ambience, encircling her in a warm, serene embrace. Once she glimpsed at the taller figure approaching her, she flinched by dropping unintentionally the partly smoked cigarette by stomping it apprehensively. Her naturally rosy-coloured, soft as satin lips wedged in a reluctant purse as her heart raced momentarily. It was Timothy.

"From where he knows where I do live?" The Bostonian's whisper almost died on her tongue, sighing a sigh of relief loathly.

"Jude?" In the interval, her rosy-coloured lips popped up promptly, pawing with an elvish, lukewarm hand her chest, indicating her heart pulse as its vehement pulses pulsated into her ears.

"T-Timothy?" The both former members of the clergy produced stutters, zinging their lips without averting their gawks right away.


	4. Reunion

**Author's Short Note: I'd like to apologize for the lack of updates over this story, nevertheless, I was focusing to get a new chapter of Wings of Light as soon as possible instead of making you to wait disappointed. Howsoever, here we go with the 4th chapter as the next one is going to be the final by ending this dynamic, short journey. Anyway I hope you like and enjoy this new chapter as well! :))**

"R-Rare bird?" The former ambitious Monsignor's muffled stutter zinged his baby pinkish lips as his heart raced once he lastly found and most of all, reunited years later after struggling to find any tangible track. Tangible track of the flew rare bird. His one of a kind and only rare bird he had potent, intoxicating feelings for her and caged them inside himself, amalgamating with the depression and fatal suicidal thoughts as a part of the dynamic roller coaster he's been through along with the loneliness. What the former man of the cloth noted about Jude's appearance that she has altered it a bit. Not much but just a bit. To feel comfortable in her own skin. To alter her appearance not much as her hair length which once cascaded to the beginnings of her blade-bones, the length peaked up to her shoulders solely. Her still drop-dead gorgeous halo ringlet of sleek old Hollywood gilt tresses framed exquisitely her round, porcelain complexion with its feminine, beautiful facial features in the beginning of her 60s. Her caramel brown orbs, pigmented with the warmest, most delectable caramel hue tinged her orbs. Meanwhile, the former pious sister of the church was dressed up in casual attires such as a plain, linen white as vanilla shirt with a handful of undone buttons, followed by a long pleated midnight black skirt as its cashmere hem descended down to her ankles. The midnight black, long pleated skirt brightly contrasted with the vanilla white linen shirt like yin and yang.

"T-Timothy? What are ya supposed to do here?" The older woman had abundance of questions, submerging her ocean of thoughts, nibbling on her lower plumpish lip without dissipating the eye contact. "How did ya find me?" Meantime, she suddenly lowered her honeyed voice, ushering him to take a seat alongside her on the hammock as he meekly seated.

"I'm here, because of you! I was looking for you during all this time until finally I found you." A sharp exhale surged its oxygen from the top of his flimsy lungs, constricting his toned chest. "I'm so relieved you're still alive and that makes me undeniably blissful." Slightly optimistic, sheepish smile parted his pale-pinkish lips as sudden warmness enveloped his once frozen heart. Frozen heart since he felt nothing than a timeless heartbreak for being alone and when Jude didn't bother to say to him whether Goodbye or Farewell with exception scribbling it on the old, antique sheet of paper without even daring to allow her former boss to see her for a single second in the wee hours of the morning. The morning when she vanished for a half a decade without even bothering to walk away from his life like a timid shadow in the limbo.

"And what else?" Sternness was vomited in her additional posed question, quirking quizzically her thin eyebrow in scouting his real motives why he's looking for her for a half a decade after her haphazard disappearance. In the meantime, the British compatriot's heart sunk at her question and her cold, austere demeanor which he hasn't received ever from her except when they had a grave business and missions in the mental hospital. Her face grimaced momentarily.

"I'd like to know why you left me on the morning after our coq-au-vin dinner night."

Silence arched between the both adults for a quarter a minute, while the blonde opted to sort her mind to assimilate a rational, sincere response to his posed question as they got from the hammock and he escorted her inside.

"Do I need to take off my shoes?" Timothy questioned politely as he stepped in the corridor after taking off his casual charcoal black blazer, subsequently hanging it on the coat hanger.

"Sure!" Once Timothy kicked off his shoes as Jude gave him convenient, fuzzy slippers to hop up in them, he couldn't help but express his generous gratitude.

"Why thank you!"

"No need to! Would ya like anything to drink or eat?" In the interval, the former devotional holy woman walked inside the kitchen as the British compatriot escorted her without hesitance. What it flabbergasted the former ambitious man of the cloth was his right hand's drastic, haphazard change in her demeanor. From cold, austere into amiable.

"Sure! I'd like some tea." He gladly accepted her offer, sitting on the dining table, squinting up his cocoa brown eyes, fueled with pure innocence, affection and benevolence, glinting them.

What it struck the younger man first was actually the cozy, welcoming atmosphere, circling him in a warm, amicable hug! The cabin that the blonde has purchased on low price looked extraordinarily wonderful. It wasn't too big, nor too compact property. It was sufficiently expansive for a small family to live for the rest of their days. Her cabin had actually 2 bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom and a living room, whereas the hall doesn't count at all.

"And back to the question, Tim!" The Bostonian pooled some water in the kettle after turning the sink's faucet and afterwards putting it to boil its water for the tea. Jude cleared coldly, dryly her throat, in order, to show more signs of her seriousness at the moment, turning to face her guest or rather, her ex-boss. "Ya wanted to know why I left Briarcliff the day after the coq-au-vin dinner night?" In the meanwhile, he bobbed docilely, faintly his head in strong agreement, seizing his berry-coloured lips in a pensive, attentive purse.

"It's also a question why you left me on the morning after without saying anything except," Timothy struggled to spell the syllables as his tongue almost crafted the stammer, taking a deep breath. "Leaving a letter on the desk of your former office?" His chocolate brown orbs glistened rather palish cocoa nuances, dappling his orbs as it once glimmered the warmest, the most vibrant and the most stunning natural chestnut brown pigment. Unconditional affliction, scarring his gaze spoke volumes and it was readily obvious for the older lady what he has been through for the last five years. His heart ached, caching the scar of the day when he was all alone, preserving on his own against the crude, unwelcoming world. Against the patriarchy. Against the society's majority of opinions which was their weapon. Against the trials. Against the desolation. Against the melancholy. Against the suicidal thoughts, immersing his whirlpool of thoughts. Against anything or anybody, blocking his way to pursue and accomplish his crucial and sole goal. Literally finding his rara avis and share with her the rest of his life with her, subsequently opening a new chapter in their own lives. The day after the British aristocrat came to the conclusion that the administrator of the mental institution was not only banished from his presence, furthermore leaving only one thing which explained her genuine motives to be no longer part of the church and its ecclesiastical duties, besides distancing herself from hurting him with the most abysmal, sinful secrets of her somber past, he could never forget what severe damage caused the heartache to him, criminally affecting him physically and mentally as if he wasn't himself again. He wasn't on his feet. The British compatriot was down with the agonizing lonesomeness, cracking his heart on trillions of flimsy and fragile crystally glass pieces, carpeting the ground.

"A very good question, Timothy!" The former religious member of the clergy chewed on her lower plump lip, quirking hesitantly her eyebrow, whilst her hands pawed the counter top. "I wanted a fresh start. I wanted my life to be much different than just as a mere nun and shitty town pump, who I used to be a long...long time ago!" She glanced at the kettle to check on the boiling water, in case, if the tea is ready nonetheless. "And I was afraid of hurting ya, because ya wouldn't want to know the real face of the right hand ya call." Solid lump budded his throat, consequently his throat muscles flexed in a choir, swallowing hard whilst the middle-aged lady wiped with the back of her petite, amusingly soft as satin hand the generous layer of perspiration, coating her temple." Ya would be ashamed and filled with disgust to bones once ya know her story." Even when the dryness accentuated her firm Bostonian accent, she was beyond profoundly touched by the former holy man's immense, altruistic enthusiasm to figure out why on the morning after she left him and the infamous mental facility.

"Of whom am I going to be ashamed and disgusted, Jude?" A sigh heaved from the top of his brittle lungs, surging its oxygen promptly, whilst the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer was supervising the kettle. "I'm pretty confused."

"Of the town pump! Of the woman, I used to be and she's no longer inhabiting my soul! And that's why I want ya to have something better by wishing ya good luck with finding it."

"No!" The younger man persistently retaliated, incapable of handling even to flee his right hand just because by judging her grim past and what she used to be. Gloomy past with galore of licentious secrets, which almost nobody aren't supposed to hear or at least the fewest people she could trust with her life could comprehend the true meaning of her song. It was not only unduly morbidly painful for Timothy to suffer in desolation without Jude, but also if he's about to be alone and desolated by her without any explanation, he wouldn't know what are his imminent intentions. Whether the insanity sedating him deliriously or lunatical fury and frustration, brewing and cooking inside him as sole ingredients for his venomous potion, the former man of the cloth wouldn't stop the battle to fight for what's right until he receives what he truly wants.

"Excuse me? Did ya mistake anything?"

"No! I think you've mistaken your fear with your protection over me which I appreciate it, but I doubtlessly refuse to go find somebody else." As soon as the former woman of the cloth gathered an empty, unused ordinary lilly-white mug by pouring green herbal tea, she put the kettle in the sink for washing and handed the mug to her guest." Thank you!" He left aloof the mug with the hot healthy beverage on the kitchen table, whereas his pristinely long, secure fingers fidgetly played absently with the mug's flimsy porcelain material, hardly tipping it with his fingertips. "I just want you and I had enough with that bizarre, enormous adventure I was through, Jude! You don't understand my pain for these 5 years and the relief and childish, pure happiness finally embracing me with open arms," In the meanwhile, Timothy paused as his front ivory, yet firm teeth bit his upper lip boyishly, coyly. "I've had enough with searching for what I'm looking for once it's gone without any unarguable explaination. I gave everything from myself to find you and make sure to not lose you ever again."

Meanwhile, silence arched between the both former members of the church as Timothy's pale-pinkish lips parted in grazing the brittle mug's porcelain material, throughout sipping of his herbal tea as he hasn't drank anything for hours. Dehydration dried his throat and his figure.

During the unspeakable silence, the Bostonian was beyond nonplussed by her love interest's open honesty and his yearn to stay with her for the rest of their lives, regardless the circumstances. Regardless her former life as a licentious jazz nightclub singer. Regardless as a nun with a beehive of impure thoughts. Regardless her mistakes. Regardless her age which was another remarkable key why she couldn't bare a baby at such age, besides her ex has jnfected her with the vicious carnal illness and ceasing her fertility at last. Regardless anything that's almost or entity capable of changing any twinkling fragment behind the blonde's profile and image.

"First and foremost, who told ya I live here?"

"I met Frank in the bar the last night and he told me where do you live."

"Oh! That's quite interesting." Her tongue crafted wry, husky chuckle after clicking her tongue. She seated against him without averting her stare from him even if it didn't seem platonic at all. "Go ahead!"

"Even if he and I don't like each other at all, therefore he didn't bother to tell me about your current residence. And most of all, I was amused you've chosen to live in the woods all alone." Judy ducked her head lightly, her both elvish, creamy as baby skin hands pawed the kitchen table. In the corner of her eye, the only free hand of the former priest managed to take hers into his larger, secure, squeezing it tightly as there's no way he'd release the grasp. "It seems you're a big fan of the nature."

"That's definitely true! I really can't live without nature."

"What about your current occupation?" He sipped of the tea for second time.

"I'm working in an orphanage as a volunteer by helping and socializing with orphans." In the interval, the blonde relished and melted the pad of his thumb, kneading the back of her petite, pale as snow hand as it thumb kneaded gingerly the knuckles.

"That's good you're helping orphans even talking to them." What it dumbfounded Timothy was that after spending a long time behind the dull walls of an asylum, the Bostonian has actually chosen the path of aiding and communicating with orphans since she's tremendously fond of children, whether babies, kindergarteners or adolescents.

"But I'd like to know why yar still after yar rare bird," The older woman's naturally mauve, plump lips curled in the stutter, glancing at the flooring for a split second, sensing her face flushed as a blooming rose and tinting her cheeks ruddily with searing heat, crawled beneath her facial skin's cheeks. "Why ya want me when I think ya can do everything that makes you happy without me?" She emphasized the whole question, shooting an incredulous stare at him as sharp as spears.

"Because your sudden disappearance distressed me and as a youngest heir of my big, wealthy family, who's actually supposed to be raised as a catholic Latin teacher, I've chosen another path. To become a priest and pursue golden dreams alone at first." Paroxysm and shivers comprised her bones and muscles of sweetness, pleasure and warmness. Warmness, pleasure and sweetness which she hasn't earned from a representative of the opposite sex with an exception as well. The majority of the men have always brought her humongous trouble and they're solely eager to get rid off of her attires' that donned her lean with its appealing curves body and use her body for their own selfish needs, thereafter dumping her. They weren't affectionate and fond of her at all. They were solely fond of her body but just for awhile. Timothy wasn't like them. That's what Jude reckoned the ginormous difference between her one-night-stand lovers from the past and the former aspiring holy man, who's currently part of her life after half decade dissipation. "I can confess I didn't have a serious girlfriend when I was a foolish sixteen years old student. Nothing was serious back then. She broke my heart just a couple of months later when I found out she was going out with a boy, slightly older than me and with whom their relationship wasn't just platonic at all. In the beginning, I struggled to overcome the heartbreak. Even my older brothers John and Daniel tried their best to console me, but in the next couple of days, I didn't care anymore. Everything that has to do with romance for me was over. Afterwards I took a vow to not have a girlfriend or any kind of a lover for the rest of my days." Meantime, the former members of the clergy swallowed hard at the mention of romantic relationships which weren't serious during adolescence. "No girl or a woman was attractive to me. She was indifferent for me. She seemed like a normal lady, who's charismatic in her own way. They didn't seem even faithful at all."

"I can't understand why that girl from high school has abandoned ya and she went with the other boy, who was with a few years yar seniors." Judy evoked out resentfully for what Timothy's first girlfriend back in his adolescence did to her. "Yar incredibly intelligent, handsome, neat and yar kindness isn't for underestimating at all."

"But I wasn't that handsome back then in the high school days." His pale-pinkish lips parted in the jeer, winking playfully at her.

"Do not underestimate yarself, Timothy! I haven't seen any photo of yars back from yar youth even childhood to judge about ugliness."

"I'll show you pictures of me of my younger years. Believe my words, Jude!"

"Fine, fine! I'd like to know what made ya to think the ladies aren't faithful at all especially when it comes up to relationships?" They directly drifted on the same topic after the retrospective questions they tarried.

"Well, I didn't mean that all women and girls are unfaithful in relationships, because there are a few exceptions as always. After being in one relationship, it taught me so much since at such fragile age what's okay and what's not at all." In the meantime, the British aristocrat sipped of the gradually cooling green herbal tea as its healthy liquid laced his tongue and teeth. "Back then when I was just sixteen years old boy, I found out that the girls on my age have actually preferred to date older guys, whilst us, the boys, we were into girls, who were younger than us. And rarely dating somebody older than our own age."

"What about the exceptional ladies, who were rather loyal?"

"Urm, I think I've found my luck and I never regret it for chasing it up to nowadays. It's the only woman, who actually was capable of breaking my vow emphatically and unable to get out of my mind." His lips produced velvety stammer, exhaling sharply momentarily. "When I've chosen to purchase Briarcliff as the church owns it by turning it from a tuberculosis hospital in a mental hospital for lunatics as its main goal is saving wretched souls, who've lost their path to God and the light, my luck has just flourished as a spring flower after budding." In the interim, the older lady listened attentively her love interest without peeling a single word, in order to disrespect him or show any signs of remorseless contempt. A slight, hopefully optimistic smile curled across her rosy-coloured, full lips. The heart beats commenced to slack as they pulsated into her ears, amalgamating with his honeyed, British accent, jingling silver-tongued tunes. "I can perfectly recall the first time when we met and the first moment I've ever laid eyes on you and vice versa. I've realized I've met the only woman, who was able to break this spell or rather, curse. I knew it, it's you, Jude! My rara avis! And up to nowadays, I haven't regretted anything from the first day we've meet but with only one exception." She bobbed humbly, meekly her head, whilst he paused for a split second to sip of his tea. "To leave the church earlier for better and spend the rest of our lives together and marry one another by having adorable children whether with your gorgeous golden hair or your charming smile." Crystal, salty twin tears poured down on her both chubby, well-defined cheeks, quietly sobbing to herself as her heart promptly sunk at his confession. Her eyeballs tinctured sanguinely sweltering. She was beyond touched by his confession and most of all, his wish to stay with her for the rest of their days by creating their own family, marry each other and have their own children, made of their flesh and blood. On other hand, those concepts molted her flimsy heart, swathed in sheer warmness and love.

"Timothy, if ya want children or family, find somebody else who can give ya the kids! I can't give ya the kids ya want." All of a sudden, the sudden motion of her ducked head, shattered the former priest's heart as his solely free hand's fingers gripped her chin, tilting her head, in order to meet her gaze, subsequently daubing the twin tears.

"It's fine! We can be just a lovely couple and adopt children anytime, you know!"

"I'm only good for a fuck." Suddenly she released her hand from his, getting from the dining table by storming off from the kitchen, whereas Timothy sped up to follow her.

"Jude!"

"What is it, Tim?" In the interim, the former Monsignor took Jude's hand as they entered in her bedroom as the door was shut, being clung to one another against the mahogany door, squeezing firmly her elvish, warm hand into his larger, veiny. She relished the soothing warmness.

"Jude, you aren't a whore or anything associated with the sinful! You're too wonderful person with a golden and big heart to be labeled with such nickname." An optimistically alleviating smile touched his lips as his other hand cupped her cheek. Pair of coffee brown pools linking with another pair of hazelish-brown pools, locking up one another's ogles. Ogles that vibrantly contrasting each other. Optimistic and pessimistic ogles, feuding altogether. "You're the best and only thing that I've and make me genuinely happy."

The older lady swallowed hard at his words, sensing intoxication in their eye contact. Meanwhile, her solely free lean arm dangled around his muscular, broad shoulder. His warm, green tea breath brushed her facial skin by bringing her hand up to his mouth, thus pecking a tender, feather kiss on her fragile knuckles. Temporal silence consumed in the bedroom until the last drying tears of the blonde have already ebbed off her scarcely tear-stained face.

"Timothy, do you know what I want?"

"What?"

"I only want ya!" Shortly before capturing his baby pinkish lips in a hardening kiss, they took their time to admire one another's enchanting facial features as their parchment complexions barely shared inch proximity until she pressed her lips on his in a hardening, steamy kiss, resiliently silencing him by throwing her other arm around his shoulder as her both petite, milky as snow hands knitted the nape of his delicate neck. "And I was afraid of hurting ya, but it seems ya don't care about my past or the mistakes I've done!" Muffled mellow whisper escaped her lips during the sultry kiss. His both hands slithered to her waist, squeezing her slim swan curves of her lower abdomen.

"I don't care about the past and your mistakes, because they've nothing to do with the nowadays rare bird I know!"

"I love you, Timothy! I just want you and I'm afraid to lose you by making the stupidest mistake ever. To leave ya without saying anything like a scared rat." Their eyelids clutch tightly shut as they melted in the kiss.

As their kisses escalated to ferociously aggressive, their wet tongues started dueling against one another as Timothy obediently followed the kiss's rhythm, although his lack of sexual experience. Muffled sensual moans zinged their lips breathlessly. In the meanwhile, the middle-aged lady guided the former man of the cloth to the double bed without breaking off the kiss until she plugged her berry-coloured tongue inside his mouth, deepening into a French kiss as she undid delicately the buttons of his shirt as it felt like snake peeling off his skin. He clumsily played with the top buttons of her linen shirt, shrugging his shoulders.

"I don't know how to please you. I just don't know."

"It's alright. Feel like what is natural for ya!" The former promiscuous nightclub singer assured him cockily in low, sensual voice by unbuckling the belt of his trousers until his garments were discarded on the carpeted flooring. "I need ya so much inside me!"

Once they got rid off their garments as they were already piled on the ground as a rich multi-coloured pile with crispy autumn leaves, they were in the middle of the king-sized bed as the British compatriot's berry-coloured lips were assaulting the blonde's neck, arching it whilst cocking back her head, giving him a better access. Initially, the kisses were feather and tender until they escalated to savagely ferocious, nipping the silken skin of her neck with his ivory, still firm teeth. At the moment, her long, slim fingers played gently with his dark hair. Their breaths hitched drastically under the hex of their inebriating romance.

"Are ya completely sure ya want all this especially with me?"

"I'm more than sure, my rara avis! I'm honored you to be my first and last ever woman in my life, who truly deserves my virtue!" Shrilling moans and groans dripped from the ex-nun's damp lips, encouraging Timothy to keep on.

"Oh fuck yeah!" Meantime, his lips slithered, indicating from her neck down to her bosom until they peaked to her lacy midnight black bra, grunting disappointed as one of his hands pawed her breast through the lacy bra's fabric, relishing the fullness, firmness underneath his palm, whilst his other pristine hand unhooked her bra, tossing it on the floor along with the other discarded attires. "Treat me like yar slut, honey!" Her heart skipped a beat as his lips grazed her erected mauve, tiny nipple by suckling it by planting a doting, light kiss as his other hand massaged the full roundness of her breast. "I fucking need ya." Her cussing was oblivious for the Bostonian as she was utterly focused and dedicated to the erotic moment, she shared with her lover. His tongue circled circa her areola until he nibbled on the sensitive skin of her nipple. Her vehement moans and groans in mild embarrassing pain and pleasure floated in the background.

In the interval, his lips slipped from her hard nipple, making it way to her lacy obsidian black panties by yanking them from her pelvis until they pooled her ankles, afterwards tossing them bluntly with the pile of clothes. She spread widely her legs, giving him a better access to him to tease her rosy bundle of nerves as his wee fingernails digged in the flossy flesh of her hips, allowing him to nip her hard clit, whilst her head collapsed on the cotton pillow. Sensual moans and groans heaved from the top of her brittle lungs.

"Oh sweet Jesus! Yar astonishingly awesome!" His tongue plugged inside her core, savoring her mouth-watering juices that laced his herbal green tea-stained, interweaving completely different favors. Herbal green tea and core's fiendish juices. One of her hands cupped her breast as it thumb teased her erected nipple, whereas his teeth scrapped the bundle of nerves as his fingers clawed her labia. "I need ya inside me. Right now!" She emphasized the last words, increasing her voice decibels intentionally.

Afterwards he pushed off his wet tongue from her core by teasing with a handful of fingers her clit until he pushed them inside her core, thrusting them in and out.

"What I meant with I need ya inside me?" A rhetorical question escaped her lips which struggled to reproduce moans, groans and any syllable in the same time in a chaotic choir.

All of a sudden, he unplugged his fingers from her core after thrusting them for a handful of minutes as she snatched his boxers after running her delicate, pale hands all over his muscular, stark torso as his erected cock sprung up suddenly. Meanwhile, she positioned his member at her core, reclining on the bed as his both mammoth hands clawed her waist, whereas her both lean, still drop-dead gorgeous legs snaked around his waist. A quarter a minute before the first thrusts, they took their time to admire each other's faces, looking up at each other's faces with sheer, doubtless lust, love, desire and pleasure.

When the younger man begun thrusting inside her core, the thrusts were painful and slow as the former nun rotated her hips vigorously. Their eyes were shut, relishing the sultry moment they shared altogether. One of her hands' long, adroit as piano keys fingers was rubbing on circles her clit, while her other hand pawned her breast, breathlessly moaning and groaning. At the moment, the moans were swifter and less sorely painful as the former holy man was on top of her, their chests pressed together by running his fingers through her wild, unkempt lion mane of glossy aureate tresses, twirling and curling between his pristine fingers. Her erected nipples brushed the callous skin of his toned, bare torso. Her both elvish, milky as vanilla hands ran all over his bare, muscly bare, admiring its masculinity and muscularity which salivated her oral caverns. Every surrounding was oblivious for them even overlooked. They quickly lost control over the decibels of their wails in intoxicating pleasure and sweetness. She scrapped with her ravishing red manicured, sufficiently long fingernails his back, leaving welts and scratches all over the starkness of its skin.

"Oh fucking God! Yar awesome for first time." Jude admitted truthfully, breathlessly.

Their climaxes were approaching until a couple of final, lethal thrusts as Timothy collapsed on her naked torso, chuckling hoarsely, contently.

"Fucking Christ!" They cried out loud in unison without paying any attention to their strong language as his both colossal, secure hands cupped her cheeks. Her both lean arms were clasped around his shoulders as they were yet clung to one another. "I can confess as it's your first time, yar were awesome. I can't deny it, sweetheart!"

"I know. But Jude, can you promise me one thing?" She nodded excitedly as an inquisitive child, who's about to keep the deepest secret with his childhood friend. "To not leave me! I can't live without you." His thumbs faintly, lovingly traced her perfectly shaped, symmetric cheekbones in a swan curve. Beaming, content smiles carved upon their lips. They panted, unable to catch their breaths for a single second.

"I promise ya I won't leave ya! Never again! I can't live without ya!"

"Never again?"

"Mhm! Correct!"

"I love you very much, my rare bird!"

"I love you so much, my Timothy!"


	5. Welcome to the Paradise

\- ***** **-  
\- _The Next Day _-  
\- _21st of November, 1969 _-

The day after came as swiftly as a bullet. The former members of the clergy have determined to go in Pennsylvania's orphanage, besides Timothy is going to live in Jude's cabin for the rest of their days as they have planned their wedding to take its place within a few days. First and foremost, they've plotted their wedding to be held private and the sole guest, who's invited is actually their foster child. Nevertheless, the both future foster parents had ginormous and galore plans for their future. Holding a private wedding and being photographed by a professional photographer. Having a lovely honeymoon in Louisiana. Planning to travel a couple of times in the year, when their schedule isn't hectic and fueling with abundance of engagements daily. Spending more time with their adopted ray of sunshine when they have spare time after finishing their chores. Timothy planning to find a job as an university Latin teacher for foreign languages. Having romantic dinners outdoors such as on the beach, in the woods, moonlight picnic in the yard and on the hammock.

When Jude and Timothy came to their senses by having a breakfast and taking a shower, besides getting dressed up neatly to pay a visit to the nearest orphanages in the state. It took them no longer than an hour and a half to find the nearest facility as the former man of the cloth parked the vehicle in the free parking lot nigh the grandiose, marmoreal statue, casting its glinting twinkles at their orbs that glanced it for a split second. The old, monumental building that was housing children, fated whether due to their once biological parents to longing alienation from them, their real parents have passed away, factly, malicious or discreet illnesses or other alternatives of their abrupt death, was also a sinister, inescapable nightmare. Inescapable nightmare for the young children even adolescents to face the crude reality and commence their revolution with their foes and tribulations at such fragile age. The life and tribulations were their sole excellent teachers, guiding them to learn from their mistakes and facing the unspeakable reality behind the orphanage's walls as protagonists. Daily physical, mental and even sexual abuse and harassment were common inside the old institution. Some of the teachers and the nuns were amiable and open-minded without being remorselessly abusive towards the orphans.

The grand, expansive yard was overcrowded with swarm of children from kindergarteners to high schoolers, who were playing, running, crying out loud from the top of their brittle lungs, chatting with the other orphans. The light late autumn zephyr gently stroke the former devotional members of the church's exposed fleshes and hairs as if that was the nature's sole distraction. The sky was pasty with hive of clouds, clouding almost each inch of it, keeping the general population's wits about the impending rain and perhaps storm.

The middle-aged couple was holding hands romantically by passing horde of children until the Bostonian noticed a young girl, whose physical appearance resembled as if she was an eight-year-old girl with olive-tanned skin tone, a long mop of greasy aureate tresses, cascading below her shoulders. Furthermore, the orphan had emerald green pools as its emerald hue pigmented the brightest, compared to the silver. Her emerald-silver pools were mottled with sheer innocence, warmness and love. The juvenile blonde's petite body was donned in an autumn leather auburn jacket, shielding her frail skeleton along with dark denim jeans and black and white stripped top with round neckline. At last but not least, round-framed glasses supported on her the bridge of her button nose, framing her round, chubby due to its baby fat parchment, childish complexion. The little girl was being bullied by a horde of 3 children as they're one girl and two boys that is with a handful of years her senior.

Linda was actually an orphan since her birth, in fact, her parents were adolescents and welcomed her to this world slightly earlier as she was deprived from them lawfully, because they were minors to have their own biological children.

"Hey, darling! There's a group of children attacking this poor little girl!" In the meanwhile, the former pious sister of the church bumped with her elbow her future husband's forearm, earning his prompt attention, squinting her glaring hazelish-brown pools at the bullies, who were mocking pointlessly the young girl. "I think something isn't alright at all." She bit her lip by scouring up to the bullies to confront them.

"Why don't you want to play with us, Linda?" The first boy with the lighter hair's thin lips parted in the crude jeer, smugly, haughtily grinning at his recent victim of his bullying.

"I just don't want to for being so rude to me." The juvenile blonde evoked out with contempt and disgust, seizing her naturally rosy-coloured, plumpish lips in a girlish, sheepish purse. Her heart vehemently hammered in her tiny chest as its heart pulses pulsated into her sensitive, petite ears.

"If you," The other boy snatched violently, blatantly her round-framed eyeglasses from her face, lifting them in the air by doubling the humiliation over Linda as he and his buddies guffawed blatantly at the young girl. "Take back your glasses, it means you won't play with us. On the contrary, you're going to play with us! Now!" The second bully emphasized stiff-neckedly at the lonely infant, who crossed her pudgy arms at the three children.

"No and no matter if you give me my eyeglasses or not, I'll still not play with you, asses!" Linda attempted to keep it cool on outside, nibbling on her lower lip by confronting the bullies, consequently pouting her rosy-coloured lips balefully at her foes. She opted to reach for her pair of eyeglasses, in spite of the same boy tossed them on the grass as their garish, half-hearted sniggers scratched their throats.

"You're so pathetic, Linda! Didn't you know that, did you?" The only female bully added until the both boys sensed the couple's hands, pawing their shoulders lightly, squeezing them by ushering them to turn to the intruders, who were interrupting the enjoyment of the hooligans. Meantime, the horde of orphans swallowed hard as they turned to Jude and Timothy, meeting their piercing, antagonizing glares, darted to their tiny, pale faces. Linda shrugged bashfully her shoulders being caught off guard, when she noted 2 strangers defended her. "Oh!"

"You little shits! Leave the poor young girl alone!" The British compatriot bared his ivory, still firm teeth at the bullies, seizing violently one of the boys' pudgy shoulder. His undertone was as menacing as burglar, who menaces his robbed prey whether to give him the cash and prominent paraphernalia without any sequelas or otherwise, the robbed prey's going to be harmed barbarous. The horde of hooligans' hearts raced not only at the sudden, haphazard appearance of the adults, moreover of their vindictive cautions. "Or the consequences for you will be much worse,"

"Timothy!" The older lady snapped at him, hissing aggressively as she was livid at the both sides. At the group of orphans and her lover. The group of orphans, who were tyrannizing in infantile, banal manner the young girl. In the same time, Judy was livid at her former boss for addressing them with strong language since they were too young and it was a bit too much, in her humble opinion. However, Timothy's adrenaline verged to erupt as a volcano as its lava boiled incessantly into his veins, fury attached to the energy he consumed. "Language!"

"W-Who are they?" The juvenile blonde girl's crossed arms uncurled, scratching uneasily with her small fingernails her scalp, chewing on her lower, plump lip unnerved. Muffled whisper zinged her lips.

"If you dare to hurt her ever again, I promise you how much you're going to regret for messing up with an innocent child, who did nothing wrong to you!" Meantime, the bullies fled in no time as they were beyond mortified by the former devotional Monsignor's noxious caution like serpentine venom, lacing his tongue by spitting it on his preys.

"Are ya fine, darling?" The older woman quickly became fond of Linda by lifting up the tossed eyeglasses, handing them to her as she put them gladly. "I'm sure these eyeglasses are yars."

"Yes, ma'am! Thank you so much!" Modesty and mousiness feuded in her politeness, bobbing meekly, faintly her head as a slight, blameless smile grazed upon her face.

"Excuse me, sweetheart! Are you alright? Did they do anything dreadful to you?" Once the hooligans fled as quickly as a light summer breeze, the younger man enquired in mellow, honeyed voice the young girl, landing his warm chocolate brown irises on Linda as he instantly figured out he was dumbfoundingly fond of her without any doubt.

"They were teasing me for months for not playing with them, because they're so mean. And they've snatched my eyeglasses a couple of times for rejecting their offer to play with them."

"Aww, don't worry, sweet cupcake! Everything will be fine." In the meanwhile, the former religious sister of the church crouched down against the schooler, cupping her cheek in the palm of her leather gloved, amusingly warm hand, tilting her head to meet her friendly gaze with its glowing, maternally doting caramel brown eyes. "What's yar name?"

"L-Linda!"

"Aww, Linda! What a beautiful name for such a lovely girl like you!" The British compatriot evoked out, gasping by offering his hand along with Jude for a handshake. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Timothy Howard. And that's my girlfriend, Judy Martin!" He introduced his girlfriend to the orphan, offering her benevolent, trustworthy smiles, smeared across their lips.

"It's a pleasure to meet ya, Linda! As Timothy said, I'm Judy! We would love to be your adoptive parents."

"D-Do you truly mean all this?" Dew of salty moistness immersed the young girl's fragile eyelids, incarnadining them as salty, crystal tears of pure felicity verged to bud under her eyes by freely gushing down her cheeks as twin tears of a heavy rain. Reassuringly they nodded their heads in strong agreement outright. "To be my parents?"

"Yes, of course, Linda! We'd love more than anything to be yar parents."

"You're incredible, you know!" All of a sudden, the couple heaved the young girl by scooping her in a tight, kindhearted embrace as their chests were pressed. Little did Linda know that somebody would like to spare their time to look after a bonus life in their property especially a foster child like her, fated to wander the orphanage's grand yard daylight and sharing a room with her peers during the night. Blossoming content smiles flexed their jaws, molting in the embrace.

\- _A Few Years Later or So_ -

\- _25th of November, 1971_ -

The years elapsed as swiftly as dripping rose petals, recently torn off from the rose until they carpeted in a rich, roseate carpet the ground.

Linda was nowadays a ten-year-old young girl, who was still attending regularly school, besides she immediately became fond of her foster parents without an ado and vice versa. Not only the juvenile blonde pleased them with her decent marks at school, moreover her ginormous inquisitiveness to learn cooking and baking sweets like the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer and repair broken items around the house like her father, although he cautioned her every time to be wary, in case, if she harms or leaves a track of welt anywhere on her body. Her childish, full of vim and vigor enthusiasm to discover the world circa her and everything that grabbed her interest was miraculously delighting for the both former religious members of the clergy.

Nonetheless Jude has exposed in front of her contemporary and sole husband until the death apart them about her grim past by discovering each petty sleazy detail which was concealed, thanks to the chaste, dark shapelessly rigid attires of the cloth. It was only Timothy and somewhat Mother Claudia, Jude's former mentor who knew about her grim past. At last but not least, the British aristocrat fell even more in love with his rare bird without being disgusted by anything she's leaked about herself and her deepest, most sinful secrets.

Even more Linda has told to her adoptive parents which she worshipped platonically more than anything about her early childhood and how she's a love child of teenagers, from whom she was deprived as a baby due to their fragile ages to look after a fresh life.

Notwithstanding the circumstances, Jude and Timothy held a private wedding on the day after adopting Linda and they were officially married for 2 years. Although the trials that have blocked their way to fulfill ultimate happiness for ages, they still found somehow peace at last.

Today was actually the former woman of the cloth's birthday as she was turning 67 years old. Despite her elder age, the Bostonian yet looked indisputably, unspeakably stunning for her age.

At the moment, the young blonde was drawing on a sheet of paper with colorful crayons and pencils her family altogether, colouring the contoured figures and shapes by filling them with the correct nuance by being unarguably parallel with her imagination, poured in an artwork. The sheet of paper laid on the low coffee table as the schooler was working on her artwork for almost an hour exquisitely.

All of a sudden, the infant could hear even recognize familiar footsteps in a choir, approaching in front of her as Jude and Timothy have finished with washing the dishes after dinner.

"Aww, look at our little angel what is she drawing!" The elder blonde's cocoa brown pools, fueled with maternal love and warmness transfixed on her foster daughter's drawing in awe, admiring the genuine talent she's poured in her creation and being doted on each petty detail. The esthetic background. The drawn figures of her, Timothy and Judy. The colours and the amalgamated nuances together.

"You're so talented, Sunshine!" In the meantime, the former ambitious holy man leant down to plant an affectionate, delicate kiss on the top of his adopted daughter's head, consequently playing gently with her lion mane of flossy golden curls. Radiant, doting smiles, kissed their lips. "We're very proud of you, Linda!"

"Thank you, dad!" The young girl molted in the tender kiss by turning to her. "Mom?" She nodded excitedly. "What do you think of my drawing?"

"I think your father is absolutely right. No wonder yar incredible artist, sweetie!" In the interim, the older lady dangled her both lean, secure arms around Linda's shoulders, pulling her in a tight, maternally affectionate hug for a half a minute.

"Thank you so much, mom and dad! You're amazing parents."

"That's so sweet of you, Linda! Is this drawing a present for your Mommy's birthday?"

"Yes, it's!"

"Aren't ya a bit sleepy?" The Bostonian inquired mockingly, nibbling on the silken skin of her lower lip.

"Nah! I'm fine." The former orphan exhaled sharply.

"You seem tremendously courageous and determined to finish your drawing, sweetheart!" The younger man cleared his throat as his long as piano keys, dexterous fingers delicately played with his foster daughter's long mop of gilt curls, admiring the crispy softness of her long beautiful hair. "I love these traits of yours."

"I'll do always anything for you, mom and dad!" Huskily beatific chuckles dripped from the both adults' tongues as serpent's lethal venom which once stained its oral caverns. "I love you so much than anything!"

"We love you more than anything, my ray of sunshine!" The married couple peppered the young girl's chubby cheeks with delicate kisses. "You deserve everything!"

"We're ready for anything just to sacrifice ourselves for yar happiness, my darling!"


End file.
